So in part 2 we're just finding out how to negotiate the dirt roads without coming to grief. However, up till now we'd stuck to the main tracks. It was time to venture off down the altogether twistier and remoter trails and see what the wilderness really has to offer.

We departed from the (relative) safety of the dirt highway and headed due south down a smaller and twistier trail. Although this meant that we reduced our overall cruising speed, the entertainment factor increased proportionally. The tight trails were a mix between hard packed sand and gravel, giving us just enough traction for the GSs to be predictable.

When the GPS and the map don't agree, it's time to get worried.

By 4:30 p.m. we realised that we were not only running late but we were completely lost as well. A lapse of GPs usage at a couple of junctions, and the fact that the topographical map was proving to be "economical with the facts", had meant that the road we were following opened out into a clearing straight out of the movie ‘Deliverance'.

A slapped together shack turned out to be an abode, but no-one was home. As we studied the topo map, took several readings on the GPs and paced around staring at the compass I could almost hear the twang of a banjo. The GPs gave us our longitude and latitude, but the topo indicated that we were not on a road. In fact we were a good 20 km from the road. Great, we're not lost because we know where we are, trouble is, according to the map, the road we were on didn't actually exist. Bugger.

And this is where the road ended ...

There was only one explanation. We had taken the wrong turn about 5 km back. That seemed odd, because the ‘right turn' looked horribly overgrown and rough. Never mind, in order to avoid finding ourselves on all fours, pants around our ankles and the sound of "squeal piggy, squeal" from the local residents, we decided to check it out.

Thirty minutes and a considerable quantity of mosquito bites later, the ‘right turn' ended abruptly at a lake. Granted, the lake was a beautiful one, but there was no getting away from the fact that the road continued no longer.

Finding a sign to somewhere in the middle of nowhere can make your day.

But all was not lost. A couple of hunters had set up camp at the lakeside and emerged with hair, teeth and normal ears, and not a banjo in sight.

"Bonjour. Nous sommes lost … er ... Parlez-vous Anglais?"

Not only did they parlez Anglais, but they also had a decent map.

Apparently, our mistake had occurred two turns back, which was good to know, but it also meant that the possibility of getting all the way to Fort Coulonge by dirt road was now slim to nil. First things first, we had to get to Rapides-des-Joachims before we ran out of gas – the extra ‘lost' distance had not only cost us time, it had cost us valuable fuel as well. Thankfully, before too long we were back on the right trails once more.

The twisty nature of the trails meant that there was always the possibility of meeting another vehicle coming the other way. This didn't seem to phase Richard, so I reluctantly agreed to let him go first. He did have ABS after all.

It was also down one of these trails that I hit my dirt biking nirvana. The trail had become two deep tire ruts with grass and sand down the centre. The only choice was to pick one of the ruts and hope it was a good one.

Nirvana on a R1150GS

At 50 km/h, the mind leaves the thoughts of the normal world behind and becomes one with the rocks, puddles and rut options ahead. It's like a fairground ride but with the added element of danger and the reality that if you get it wrong you could find yourself up shit creek without a paddle – or in a muddy puddle without a GS, to be more accurate.

Following Richard, who was on the 1150, it was obvious that he too had found that higher state of being as he launched the GS fearlessly into all obstacles that came before him. Often this would involve deep puddles, which would see him slide the bike from side to side before accelerating back out of it. This would give me a couple of seconds of warning, allowing me to briefly apply my brakes before dropping into the same puddle, get a gallon of water up my leg and then power back out.

Power is the key.

The bridge over the Grand Chute.

By 7:00 p.m. we arrived at the Grande Chute, a magnificent set of rapids, over which a large wood and steel girder bridge stretched. As we approached civilisation, the road widened and our cruising speeds topped back up toward the 100 mark. Thankfully it had just rained for long enough to dampen the well-graded sand of the road. No dust, and a dense enough top to give just the right amount of traction. Lurvely.

We reached Rapides-des-Joachims just as the sun was dropping off the horizon. We were horribly behind time as usual, and were left with no choice but to hit the asphalt of Ontario. It was a couple of hours blast to Fort Coulonge and a much needed kip. Once you've experienced a day like that, all other riding experiences pale in significance.

THE WATER IS WHITE

The Spruceholme Inn.

After all that dirt we had planned for a day of rest (and much needed it was too) at the Spruceholme Inn. And what better place to while away a day. Built in 1875 by the son of the local lumber baron, the Inn was recently restored, keeping the original architectural integrity and feel of the its original grandeur.

But taking it easy is for wimps. We were staying a stone's throw away from the ideal white water rafting stretch, catered to by three or four separate companies. We chose to go with one of the smaller outfits called Esprit, because they not only have the smallest rafts (more fun with only 7 to the raft), but they also do two sections of the Ottawa River (it splits at this point and circumnavigates an island).

'Arris sits on the rocks (left) contemplating if this is a good thing.

In a way, white water rafting is very similar to riding fast down dirt trails. You never quite know what's around the next corner. But it's mostly likely going to be a lot of fun and you're guaranteed to exercise the old adrenal gland. Again, you have to have faith that it's going to be all right, but that added element of "maybe it won't" is what makes the drop off into the raging, boiling water below so attractive.

Some people think you're mad to do it, I think you're mad not to.

THE LUXURY OF MONTEBELLO

After another night of luxury at the Spruceholme Inn, we found ourselves back on the 300-series roads as we returned to more populated areas. We explored the Outaouais region, just north of Canada's capital, Ottawa, opting to park in the city of Hull, just across the river from the big O.

Oh yes. Getting accustomed to a new lifestyle at Montebello.

This is probably one of the better ways to see Ottawa, as the old city parliament buildings make a dramatic view, perched on top of the opposing river bank.

But cities are for tourists, so we quickly cut out of Hull and headed for the hills in search of any dirt trails that we could find. Again, any of the 300-series roads will either give way to dirt patches or lead you right to them.

Although we failed to recapture our previous dirt riding experience, we got enough to aid our withdrawal and ease the transition back onto asphalt. Besides, rolling up to the ultra fancy Château Montebello (Canada's biggest log cabin) at the end of a good day's ride is reward enough.

C'EST TOUT – MONTRÉAL

Montebello isn't actually that far from Lachute so interesting road options are limited. We did manage to keep it somewhat entertaining by looping down the 344, which hugs the Ottawa River before rejoining the Montréal main artery system.

Masala - well recommended.

For some unexplained reason, Richard knows a lot of people from the Montréal Pakistani community, one of which is the owner/operator of a funky restaurant, Masala. Located in the old port area of Montréal, the restaurant is more like a cosy apartment, where, for one night, we were the guests of honour. Fine beer, fine food and a night of fine dining (except for the plate licking, but I was hungry) gave a unique end to a unique trip.

And that was that. The highlight of the trip it would most definitely be the dirt portion. With the added dimension of ever changing surfaces, these roads easily surpassed their covered cousins. And what better way to explore a slice of Canadiana wilderness than on navigable routes with a hint of danger and a total lack of traffic?

If dirt is not your bag then the mass of 300-series roads and copious attractions in the area just to the north and west of Montréal make for an excellent tour in themselves.

In total we covered 2,100 km in about 10 days. Not a massive distance, and we could probably have knocked off a couple of days if we'd cut down on the photography and the obvious tourist traps. But the trip is the holiday and you're missing out on a big part of Québec if you don't slow down to smell the coffee, converse with the locals and sample the poutine.

Salute!

If you want to read about where we stayed and ate at as well as the equipment we used and our wise recommendations, then go to:

www.cmgonline.com/trips/quebec2000.

Cheers, Editor 'arris